


A Book of Revelation

by ElderofAvonlea



Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery, Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: Anne is dying and gil knows exactly how he feels about it, F/M, basically the book scene but switched
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-08 08:44:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21233009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElderofAvonlea/pseuds/ElderofAvonlea
Summary: Upon his return from being away a week in Charlottetown, Gilbert discovers that Anne has taken ill with pneumonia and is not expected to recover. Stricken with fear and overcome with the realization of his love for her, he races to her bedside.Basically an adapted version of Chapter XL in Anne of the Island, wherein Gilbert and Anne are swapped.





	A Book of Revelation

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the replies on this post on my tumblr: https://elderofavonlea.tumblr.com/post/188677284579/lucas-said-in-an-interview-that-they-used-a-double

“Many thanks to you, sir.” Gilbert said, folding the piece of parchment and tucking it into his pocket.

Gilbert had stopped in at the Barry residence on his way home from the train station, having been a week away in Charlottetown making arrangements for his imminent departure for France. Winifred’s father had been quite a help in this regard, but Gilbert knew that he would have to shoulder the cost of university on his own, prompting his enquiry with Mr. Barry on how the initial exports of his apples had fared. 

Mr. Barry nodded and offered him a thin smile. 

“I would offer you an invitation to stay for tea, but as you know, spirits have been quite low, of late.” He nodded towards the parlor, and for the first time, Gilbert noticed Diana sitting primly before a low table set for the afternoon respite. 

Her usually fair skin appeared almost translucent, her dark hair curling around her pallid cheeks in unkempt waves. She stared into her cup, the brown liquid steaming and untouched. 

Gilbert frowned as the youngest one, Minnie May, appeared in the entryway between them. Her rose-colored skirts gathered in her hands, she peered up at him with sorrowful eyes. 

“Is it true that Anne is dying?” she asked, her voice small. 

Gilbert stood quite silent and motionless, looking at her. 

“Minnie May, that’s enough now,” Mr. Barry said, moving forward to shepherd her back into the parlor. 

He turned back to his visitor, finding that Gilbert’s face had gone so white that he thought he might faint. 

“Are you quite alright, son?” he asked, concern furrowing his brow. 

“Is… it… true?” Gilbert asked in a voice that wasn’t his. 

“Anne is very ill,” Mr. Barry said gravely. “She took down with pneumonia over a week ago. Hadn’t you heard?”

“No,” said that unknown voice. 

“The doctor said it was a bad case from the start, as she’s been so terribly run down lately, clamoring on about injustice and all.” He shook his head disapprovingly and sighed, looking again into Gilbert’s ashen face. “Don’t look like that, son. While there’s life, there’s hope.”

Gilbert’s gaze found its way back to Diana, still seated in the parlor. Her eyes lifted from the cup before her, the dark irises glistening with tears. She shook her head imperceptibly at his searching gaze, and he felt his blood run cold. 

So, there was no hope of her then?

Gilbert shook Mr. Barry’s hand once more and thanked him weakly. He walked blindly across the lawn to where his horse was tied. Untangling the reins with numb fingers, he hoisted himself into the saddle and kicked the mare into a gallop. 

Trees flung by him, the boughs groaning in the gathering storm, the sky above growing dark. Thin stalks of wheat shivered in the wind, the air growing thick and humid with the coming rain. A lone bird flew across his path, its frail wings working against the gusting wind as the first autumn leaves tore from limbs overheard.

And Anne was dying. 

As the mare’s hooves beat into the soft ground, fear engulfed his heart. Every muscle in his body was taut in agonized vigil as he sped towards Green Gables. 

He loved Anne, had always loved her. He knew that now. But the knowledge had come too late, too late even for the bitter solace of being with her at last after so many years. 

All his hours spent alongside Dr. Ward at the bedsides of ailing patients could not prepare him for the sight of Anne in her bed, frail and unmoving, her hair spread across the pillow as if in a macabre halo. The wan skin of her forehead glistened with a sheen of cold sweat, her lips chapped and parted to allow the occasional wheeze to slip through. 

Marilla sat beside her, hands clasped and head bowed, her lips moving in silent prayer. She straightened as Gilbert entered the gabled bedroom, his knuckles falling gently against the door. 

He swallowed, his gaze fixed to Anne’s pallid cheeks and the faint quiver of her lip as each shallow breath passed over it. 

“How is she?” he asked. 

Marilla’s hand knotted over her heart. “She’s not expected to make it to the morning,” she whispered, tears filling her reddened eyes. 

A strangled croak escaped from him then. He stood in the doorway, until Marilla rose from the chair, offering it to him. 

“I’ll give you a moment,” she said kindly, her frail fingers gripping his as she passed him. The door fell shut quietly behind her as she slipped into the hall. 

He swallowed roughly, dragging in a breath before taking the seat beside the bed. 

Anne’s fingers were limp in between his palms, the skin cold and slick with sweat. He leaned his forehead against their clasped hands, his elbows sinking slightly into the firm mattress. 

“Oh Anne,” he whispered, his eyes closing as his unshed tears finally spilled down his wind-stained cheeks. “I’ve been so blind, so foolish.”

He blinked so as to make out her ashen face. Her features were strained as she fought for air, her breaths rattling in her chest and sticking in her throat. 

“And now,” he said, the words garbled as he choked on his tears, “Now I fear that you will go from this life not knowing how much I care, how much I love you.”

Slumping further forward in his seat, Gilbert released an anguished sob. He clung to Anne’s lifeless fingers as a tremble overtook his tall frame. 

He imagined going away from this room, descending the stairs, mounting his horse, and returning to his life, all with the knowledge that Anne never would. She would never again rise from this bed to smile up into the midday sun or laugh in delight as she drew a perfect loaf from the oven. 

The years without her stretched empty and black before him, and he was sure that he could not live through them. Quavering lips pressed to her cold fingers, he found himself wishing for the first time in his life that he could die too. If Anne went away from him, without a word or sign or message, he could not live. 

Nothing was of any value without her. 

He belonged to her and her to him. In his agony, he had no doubt of that. 

He did not love Winnie, never had loved Winnie. Oh, what a fool he had been not to realize what the bond was that had held him to Anne all these years – to think that the flattered fancy he had felt for Winifred Rose had been love. And now, he thought bitterly, he must pay for his folly as for a crime. 

He wept at her bedside until exhaustion overcame him. 

When he awoke, birds were calling to one another outside the window, hopping along the thin boughs of the cherry tree there. White light filtered through the pane, warm and innocent. 

Fingers brushed softly against his cheek, and he blinked beneath their tenderness. 

“Gil,” she whispered, his name rough in her throat. 

He started, straightening as the memory of all that had transpired the afternoon before rushed back into his mind, sending an icy shiver through his heart. But she was here, smiling at him with cracked lips, her fingers reaching for his beside her. 

“You came home,” she whispered, her head lolling heavily across the pillow. Her grey eyes, so often steeled against him, crinkled in pleasure as he leaned nearer. 

“I came as soon as I heard,” he said, running his thumb over the back of her hand. It was warm under his touch. 

Before he could say more, the door opened behind him, and Mrs. Lynde bustled into the room, a towel in hand. She bade him out of the room so that Anne might bathe in a cool bath so as to feel better that much sooner. 

Unwillingly, he abandoned her hand with a small squeeze of her fingers. He rose to leave, pausing at the door. 

“I’ll wait for you.” 

She smiled at him weakly as Mrs. Lynde pressed her palm to her forehead. 

As Gilbert closed the door behind him, a psalm his father had loved came to his mind: 

“Weeping may endure for a night but joy cometh in the morning.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! As always, kudos and comments are appreciated! I love to hear what you all think! 
> 
> Also, you can check me out on Tumblr @elderofavonlea!


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